Chapter Twenty Three.
A Sudden Alarm.
The silken string Rob had twisted was found to be quite dry, and pretty well kept its shape as it was formed into a loop and passed over the end of the bow nicked for its reception, and after bending secured with a couple of hitches over the other.
“Now, Mr Rob, sir, try it, and send one of your arrows as far as you can. Never mind losing it; we can soon make plenty more. That’s the way! Steady! Easy and well, sir! Now then, off it goes!”
Twang! went the bow-string, and away flew the arrow high up toward the river, describing its curve and falling at last without the slightest splash into the water.
“Well done!” cried Shaddy, who had watched the flight of the arrow, shading his eyes with his hand. “That’s good enough for anything. A little practice, and you’ll hit famously.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Shaddy.”
“Well, but I do, sir. If Indians can kill birds, beasts, and fish with their bows and arrows, surely a young Englishman can.”
“I shall try, Shaddy.”